The timeless sense I felt once I entered was endearing. I felt as if I were being allowed to be part of old San Juan. The cafe from a huge gas-fired cafe machine was astounding. I didn't expect much, but when the waiter put my cup under the spigot next to the one for cafe and hot milk flowed into my cup, I thought, "cafe con leche," but the way they would have made it in Habana, Cartagena, or Buenos Aires, in 1942. I'm not old enough to have been there, but this cafe took me there. And so did the Cuban sandwich I had. Wow.
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